


Not Because They Are Easy

by artful_aviator



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artful_aviator/pseuds/artful_aviator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphonse pushes his fragile human body to experience everything, and fights to learn not only the limits of endurance and tenacity, but also what it takes to break those limits. Meanwhile, Colonel Mustang throws himself into the reconstruction of Ishval like fuel in a furnace, and believes he already knows which people understand what true loneliness is. And when everyone's efforts are thrown against the northern border to protect against the aggressive expansion of Drachma, is it possible to retain perspective for the things that still need changing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The train rocked in that familiar rhythm at a steady clip of seventy miles per hour, the view smearing past the windows a vision of pastoral beauty. The sun shone, turning the Amestrian countryside into a riot of deep summer green and gold. The elevated tracks cut alongside fields of wheat or corn or livestock, separated by boundary hedges and dotted with the occasional red-shingled farmhouse or the distinctively conical roof of an oast. It was a day to rival any of the most beautiful in Resembool, nostalgic and idyllic at the same time.

 

Curled in his seat with one arm braced across his knees and the other hand pressed to his mouth, Alphonse could not appreciate it. Alphonse felt disgusting.

 

He vaguely remembered a time when he'd felt worse than this, when he was three (or perhaps four?) and caught one of those incomparably devastating childhood illnesses, stomach flu and ear ache and fever all at once. He vaguely remembered the week he'd spent in bed, sipping water and nibbling bread only to throw it up again half an hour later, his mother dripping warm olive oil into his ears and Ed sternly icing his forehead. But the memory was hazy, and his discomfort now was extremely acute.

 

Two days earlier, when he’d stood on the platform and waved his brother goodbye with only half an hour to wait for his own train, Alphonse had felt just fine. More than fine, even. He'd been excited about the journey to a foreign land, for although he'd been all over Amestris and was extremely well-traveled for a fifteen year old boy, he'd never actually left the country. He had all his papers in order: his first passport, bound in attractive blue leather with the Dragon embossed on the front in silver, along with his immigration papers and his Xingese visa. They were tucked all together, bound in a slim wallet in the inside pocket of his overcoat. His luggage - one suitcase full of clothes that were all much newer than his brother’s, the other full of alchemy books - was strapped into the overhead rack above him. His briefcase, containing a leather binder of alchemy notes, Gracia’s paper-wrapped sandwiches, and several paperback books, sat on the seat beside him. He sat by the window, rested his crutches against the seat next to him and put his feet up on the seat opposite him. He'd never done that in a train before, and he wasn't sure if it was allowed, but it was a relaxing position and after an hour or so during which he wasn't told off for it, he stopped worrying. He read his novels, he read his notes, he looked out of the window and occasionally when the sun was at just the right angle he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and flushed with pleasure. The seats got surprisingly uncomfortable after a few hours of sitting in them, the cabin smelled a little stuffy and the sun was very warm on his face.

 

It was the first time Alphonse had traveled alone, and he was so excited he felt like he might pop. He not only heard the clickety-clack of the wheels running over the expansion joints, he _felt_ it too. 

 

That was the day that Alphonse fell madly in love with traveling by train.

 

The second day passed in much the same way, but by the third it became apparent that something was wrong. He was stiff from sleeping on the seats, but when he sat up he felt violently dizzy. It passed after a moment or two, and Alphonse guessed it was just low blood sugar. He made his way to the dining car and stood for a few minutes in complete confusion, still unused to buying food on his own. Too shy to ask the lady at the counter for help, he meekly picked out some kind of pastry dusted with powdered sugar and slivered almonds and sat down in the corner to eat. It tasted delicious, but when he was finished he didn't feel any better. If anything he felt a little worse. He bought a bottle of milk and took it back to his seat, sipping it miserably and wondering what he was going to do if his body started betraying him like this. He had no idea how to fix it. Should he go and try to throw up? He didn't really like the idea of throwing up in public. He barely remembered what it felt like to be sick. How was he supposed to figure out what was wrong with him?

 

Eventually he decided that he'd just have to suck it up and distract himself, and that worked for most of the day. The discomfort grew and grew but he did a good job of ignoring it until he was very nearly halfway done with his alchemy-fiction novel, and any further attempts at reading were spoiled by the sudden onset of a splitting headache.

 

Now he was curled over in his seat, unable to even look out of the window - seeing the landscape flying past like that was making his stomach turn now - fighting down the nausea creeping up the back of his throat. Keeping his eyes open made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something very high up, and his hands were shaking and his skin was damp. Even the thought of food made him feel sick.

 

For the first time since he'd begun to make the plans for his departure, he was beginning to think that he might have undertaken this trip a little too soon.

 

On the fourth day a lady had got on and sat across the aisle from him, seen his miserable disposition and offered him hard peppermint candy from a special tin in her purse. She herself got terrible motion sickness on the train, she explained to him, and the mint helped soothe her stomach. The candy tasted good, if a little strong, and it did help his stomach, but the other symptoms weren't mitigated in the slightest.

 

By the fifth day, the heart palpitations had started, and Alphonse admitted defeat. He had already vomited twice, hands on the wall over the toilet in that claustrophobic little bathroom, the rocking motion of the train not helping his nausea one bit. Throwing up, Alphonse discovered, _hurt_. His stomach muscles all seized up at once and the sharp pain of it was utterly unexpected. The sour, acidic taste of the vomit was vile, and the sheer fright of losing control of his body so completely with nobody to help him was paralyzing. After a lot of  dry-heaving (which was equally as painful as actually vomiting) and not a little silent crying, he'd been able to clean up properly, rinsing his face and his mouth, and wiping the tears from his eyes. His teeth felt squeaky, and he was careful not to let them touch for a long while afterwards.

 

He got off at the very next stop, explaining his condition to the conductor who kindly let him keep his ticket for when he'd recovered. He did feel better in the fresh air, and no longer in motion, but not by very much. Still, he was here alone and had nobody to help him, so after a few minutes resting in the station he got directions to the closest hotel, booking himself in. He had barely got inside his room before his body gave out and he collapsed on the bed, falling asleep fully dressed.

 

It was nearly a fortnight later that Alphonse made it back to Central. The doctor had made housecalls to Al’s hotel room for a full week, keeping him on fluids and a monitored food intake before granting him permission to board the train back. The journey home was just as unpleasant as the journey out, if a little worse, and by the time the train pulled in at Central Station Al was a dizzy, sweaty, ashen mess. He was grateful, then, for that week of bedrest and confinement in the East. The doctor had told him that another five days on the train too soon could put him in shock, and given the way he felt now, Alphonse believed it.

 

He was helped with his bags by a station porter, but he could barely stay upright even on his crutches. Nausea ebbed and swelled against his diaphragm, and he tried to force down the urge to vomit again. There were people everywhere, and his strong sense of social propriety was really all that was holding him together at this point. So when someone finally came to his aid, he was unspeakably grateful.

 

"Alphonse. You look like death warmed up. Come on, let's go."

 

With Edward in transit, not to mention busy, the only other person Alphonse had had to contact was the Colonel. He'd asked the nurse to send a telegram, hoping that the Colonel could just find him a ride back from the station - he hadn't expected him to come out in the middle of the afternoon and pick him up personally. And yet here he was, forbidding in his uniform and overcoat amidst the tide of civilians on the platform, putting a steadying hand at Alphonse's elbow and gesturing for the porter to bring the luggage.

 

"Colonel..?"

 

"Don't argue, the driver's waiting. I've got your bags."

 

“Oh, thank you— but, I think I need to go to the bathroom again... I don't feel very well and I wouldn't want to get your car dirty..."

 

A brief exchange and a couple of banknotes sent the attendant on to the car while the Colonel helped Alphonse to the bathroom. He gave his reflection a critical study in the mirror over the washbasins, meticulously rearranging his hair as he listened to Alphonse cough and retch into the toilet bowl. When the boy emerged, hair sticking to his forehead and his skin pink and shiny, tears in his eyes, he took pity and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. He wet it under the faucet, handing it wordlessly to Alphonse to cool his face with.

 

"Better?" the Colonel asked, and Alphonse nodded meekly.

 

"Yes, a little," he said. "I think I just need to get out of the station, that's all."

 

"Of course." The Colonel led him out of the bathroom, keeping a steady hand at his elbow all the way back out to the car.

 

The engine was already running, the luggage stowed safely in the trunk, and Mustang opened and held the door for Alphonse as he struggled to get himself inside without tripping over his crutches or falling on his face. He managed on both counts, and Roy closed the door and moved around to the other side, sitting beside him. The car pulled out of the station entrance, and Alphonse felt his sore stomach lurch again. This trip, he realized, was going to be awful.

 

"I'm really sorry,“ Alphonse said hastily. "I really didn't mean to put you to so much trouble..."

 

"Don't worry about it," Mustang replied. "Honestly, I'm glad for the distraction. I'm being worked to the bone lately. It's nice to get out of the office for a little while."

 

An excuse to procrastinate, then. Al hid a weak smile.

 

"Everything's been taken care of," the Colonel continued. "Unless you object, you'll stay in my apartment for tonight. I’ve called my physician, he should be there before long. He'll take care of you for the rest of the day."

 

Alphonse startled, eyes widening. He was just causing more and more trouble, wasn't he?

 

"Oh, no! I couldn't!"

 

"Nonsense," Roy replied mildly.

 

"But you're so busy, I don't want to impose, I've already been such a bother..."

 

The Colonel turned his head, giving Alphonse a look that fell precisely between stern and fond. It instantly silenced any further protests. Alphonse knew that only people who cared gave you a look like that.

 

"Alphonse, when people go through the kinds of things we have been through together, it is generally understood that they are friends, and will do things for each other when necessary. What would you rather I do, put you back on the train for another three days to Resembool when I have an excellent doctor on call right here in Central?"

 

Alphonse flustered a little at that, but he didn't dare argue. Ed had been protective enough over him, and now the Colonel was doing it too... although this didn't seem quite the same. Mustang's generosity often surprised Alphonse, when it showed itself. It was well-hidden most of the time.

 

"Thank you very much, Colonel," Alphonse replied, looking down at his knees, and Roy relaxed back in his seat.

 

"Oh, don't mention it."

 

\--

 

In all the time Alphonse had known Colonel Mustang, he didn't think he'd ever seen him care about work this much. As Roy helped Alphonse into the elevator, dragging first the screen and then the door closed and pressing the button for the fourth floor, he clicked open his pocket watch to check the time. Alphonse saw the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes, a faint but visible wince. The ornate needle of the tarnished brass dial over the door swung in a slow arc from left to right, marking off all the flights of stairs Alphonse could not have climbed.

 

Mustang held both of Alphonse's suitcases under one arm, and the briefcase in the other. Alphonse could barely support himself on his crutches, but even so, the Colonel’s insistence on doing everything made him feel guilty.

 

The building itself was old, presumably retrofitted with the electric bulbs in their fan-shaped sconces that lit the halls. The wallpaper wasn’t exactly new, and the hallway had a stale smell to it, tobacco and mildew and the old, papery smell Alphonse associated with library back rooms. The Colonel's door was nondescript, white with no more adornment than the peep hole and the little brass numbers screwed in above it. Alphonse remembered the big house in Resembool that had once been his, and all the land around it, and felt a little sad that people lived in places like this. Then another thought chased on the heels of his sadness: _for the Colonel, at least, this is Home_. It felt a little warmer after that.

 

They were no sooner inside the door when the Colonel spoke, holding it for Alphonse and lingering on the threshold himself.

 

"Well, I've got to go. I'm expecting a call. The physician should be here any minute, so go ahead and let him in when he comes. I'll phone when I get back to the office. In the meantime, make yourself at home. The bathroom's at the end of the hall, and the bedroom is the door on the left. If you need to lie down, please feel free."

 

Alphonse thanked Roy all the way out of the door. The click of the latch sounded very loud, and all of a sudden Alphonse found himself completely alone in the Colonel's apartment.

 

Oh. Well.

 

Alphonse hurried to the couch, lowering himself down on to it and propping his crutches up against the arm. He touched his forehead, frowning a little at the heat under his hand. Well, the doctor would be here soon, and could tell him if he had a fever or not. It was, in its own way, frustrating that Alphonse was so out of touch with his own body that he couldn't even tell if he was too hot, but he didn't linger on it. What was the point? He'd adjust, after all. He had the joy of learning every aspect of his body to look forward to, and he was determined to keep seeing it that way.

 

The apartment was surprisingly nice, really. Alphonse wasn't sure what he’d expected the Colonel’s home to look like, but Mustang's taste apparently veered toward the conservative. The couch upon which Alphonse sat was wood-framed (cedar? walnut?) and bow-legged, upholstered in mustard yellow velvet. It also appeared to have paws, which Al found delightful. Aside from the couch, there was only a desk and a chair, by the window. The floorboards were unvarnished, worn soft, warm brown. 

 

The apartment was very clean - sparse, even - save, that was, for the desk, which was a catastrophe. Alphonse guessed that Roy had a cleaner who was instructed not to go near his work, and he smiled a little. Judging from the state of the desk, this place would be in a pretty sorry state if it were left up to the Colonel alone.

 

He meant to stay awake until the doctor came, but his resolve lasted for barely a minute before he fell sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

"Alphonse?"

 

The voice floated to Al through many layers of sleep. He was cocooned in soft warmth and darkness, and he felt so, so safe. He didn't want to respond; he wanted to hold on to this feeling, this comforting place between unconsciousness and reality. He made a quiet sound, wriggling down deeper into the blankets. 

 

"Alphonse," the voice repeated gently. It was so familiar. Not Brother's, though... not Winry or Granny's, either. A man's voice. Alphonse let his eyes slide open, and everything was unfamiliar and for a moment, he had no idea where he was. 

 

Then the memories returned. Colonel Mustang, and the physician who took his vitals and ordered him into bed, and this apartment that Alphonse had never set foot in before. Which meant this must be the Colonel's bed. Alphonse blinked up at the Colonel. He heard the soft sound of traffic from the street below. There was a light on beyond the hallway, casting half of the Colonel's face in gentle yellow light and the other half in deep shadow. 

 

"You can go back to sleep if you want to, but I thought I should tell you that there's food, if you want it.” 

 

Mustang spoke in a hushed, soothing voice that Alphonse had never heard him use before. He was careful not to break the atmosphere of sleep… but he also had the tone of someone addressing a child. Alphonse smiled beneath the blankets; he hadn't been treated like a child in a long, long time. While Edward would have found it patronizing and railed against it, Alphonse appreciated it. 

 

"Food?" he murmured.

 

"Quiche," Roy replied, and Alphonse's eyes brightened. 

 

"Gracia's?"  

 

Roy snorted. "No," he said firmly. "Gracia doesn't feed me. It's from a bakery I like."

 

Alphonse was nestled so deeply into the thick quilt that only his head was visible, that honey-colored hair fluffed up into a short, tufted halo. He looked like a pea in a pod. 

 

"I'd like a little bit, please, if that's all right." Alphonse hoped he could keep it down, and not embarrass himself _and_ waste his host's food, but he thought it was worth a chance. It was hard to turn down food. "And, um, maybe a glass of milk, if you have any..? I really feel a lot better now that I've had some proper sleep." 

 

"Sure.” Roy nodded, and left the room. Alphonse lay, catnapping and listening to the faint noises from the kitchen, silverware on china and the sound of Roy's fancy electric icebox opening and closing. The Colonel returned with a tray, which he set on Alphonse's lap when the boy had squirmed a little more upright. He took his own plate from it and perched on the side of the bed, eating off his knees. 

 

Alphonse thanked him for the hundredth time, and laid into the quiche. The first swallow reminded him of how sore he was from days of periodic vomiting, however, and he had to force himself to slow down. 

 

"This is delicious!" he announced, delighted, and Roy gave him a smile and a nod. 

 

"When you're a little better I'll get pastries from this shop. The doctor told me you shouldn't have sugar for a few days. It could make you sick again, and I imagine you’ve had enough of that.” 

 

Alphonse nodded, and tried not to look too disappointed. 

 

"But aside from that, he was very optimistic," Roy added. "A few days of bed rest and the sickness should go away. It's just a simple case of overexertion." 

 

Alphonse was quiet for a few moments, listening to the city-sounds floating up through the window, the grind of an engine a few blocks away, the ebb and swell of indistinct conversation. 

 

"I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've put you to," he said sadly. "And I know that you said we're friends and friends help each other, and I'm very grateful for that, but this wouldn't have happened if I'd just waited to get stronger before I went to Xing. I feel so silly now for trying to make a journey that long when I can't even walk without crutches... it's just that Brother was going West, and I'm not used to not being able to keep up with his pace..." '

 

Roy nodded, silenced momentarily by his mouthful of food. Alphonse noticed that he didn't speak with his mouth full. 

 

"That's quite understandable," Roy said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Besides, I gather that you were very excited to begin your research there. As well as to get reacquainted with a certain Xingese princess." He gave Alphonse a knowing smile, and the boy blushed deeply. 

 

"I-I don't think she's a princess, exactly--" he stammered, and the Colonel laughed. 

 

"You’re just a kid,” Roy told him. “Despite your experience. You ought to be having fun. And I’d say you’ve earned it, too. Well, anyway, you're welcome to stay here until you're well enough to go home." 

 

"I really, really appreciate it!" Alphonse smiled, but the expression didn't last. The downcast look that replaced it was, in Roy's opinion, downright puppyish, and of the kicked variety at that. "I guess I won't get to go to Xing for a while after all, then..." 

 

"It wouldn't be advisable," Mustang agreed. "You ought to write a letter to May Chang explaining the situation. I'll have it posted for you." 

 

"Oh, that's right!" Alphonse was a little dismayed that he hadn't remembered such a basic courtesy. "I'll write it tomorrow." He finished the quiche, set his fork down and picked up the milk. Condensation had formed on the outside of the glass, cold and wet against his fingers. He gripped the glass a little tighter to keep it from slipping and sipped at it, dainty as a bird. 

 

"Have you had any ideas on what you're going to do in the meantime?" Roy asked. 

 

"Um? What do you mean?" 

 

"Well, you can't progress with alkahestry any further until you gain access to Xing’s libraries. But a mind as brilliant as yours obviously can't lay idle. So have you decided on what you're going to study until you're well enough to travel?" 

 

Alphonse smiled, unable to meet the Colonel’s eyes. 

 

"Thank you, sir," he said. "For the compliment, I mean." 

 

"I didn't mean it as flattery..." 

 

"Well, it's just that between the two of us, Brother is usually the one that impresses people, what with being the youngest State Alchemist in history and so on. Not that I mind! But I'm not really used to hearing that kind of thing." 

 

Roy slid his empty plate on top of Alphonse's, lacing his fingers in his lap and looking at the boy. 

 

“Your brother makes a much stronger first impression than you do," the Colonel replied wryly. "Mostly by virtue of being louder, ruder and more destructive. Which isn't to say he isn't a prodigy, because he doubtlessly is. Your brother's genius is chaotic, though. You have a... natural sense of discipline which clearly isn't a family trait, and you think things through. Your maturity also surpasses his by a long way. That and your obvious talent and intelligence make it clear to me that you can easily keep pace with your brother, and perhaps surpass him as well, if that discipline of yours pays off.” 

 

Alphonse all but glowed with pride, charmed and inspired by the frank compliments in that way that only the young can be, when the opinions of those they look up to can truly affect their confidence. With age, Roy knew, the boy would come to see people's respect for him as simply a matter of who to trust, but at the tender beginnings of his adolescence, hearing such a ringing endorsement of his value was important. 

 

"Do you really think so? I do have some theories I'm working on that don't directly relate to alkahestry, or at least, I hope they'll amount to something..." 

 

Roy nodded. "You have all the traits I would expect to see in an alchemic prodigy yourself," he said. "Even if you are far quieter about it. For which I am deeply thankful, incidentally." 

 

"Yeah, I guess Brother is really a handful," Alphonse giggled. "Even I get frustrated with him sometimes. I hope he doesn't annoy you too much though, Colonel. You've done a lot for us, and even though he can be really rude I know he's grateful, too." 

 

Roy waved a hand, dismissing the worry. "Although I don't like to admit it," he sighed, "It's really just that we're far too similar in personality to get along with each other." 

 

"You think so..?" Alphonse was a little dubious.

 

"Not in the details," Roy clarified. "But in the principles, yes. We are both stubborn, we both hate losing, and we both understand the importance of protecting the people we love. It's just that..." Roy's eyes clouded, and it was his turn to frown for a fleeting moment before he brushed the unpleasant thought aside. "It's just that Fullmetal learned independence where I learned co-operation, I suppose." 

 

He smiled, but it was a little forced, and Alphonse had to wonder what Roy had thought to say first. 

 

 

Alphonse screwed the cap back on to the heavy fountain pen, set it down on the desk and blew lightly on the wet ink. He read the letter through again, making sure he was satisfied with every word, before neatly folding it into thirds and slipping it into an envelope. The Colonel had left writing supplies out on the desk for him that morning, guessing - correctly - that Alphonse would rather not write the letter at all than take paper without being invited. He’d also cleared a space on the desk, which had obviously just involved picking up the things in the middle and stacking them off to the sides. 

 

Alphonse poked around in that mess for sealing wax and found nothing, so he just set the letter down and hoped that Mustang would take care of sealing and addressing it. Alphonse knew how to send a letter within Amestris, but he'd never had to send one across the border before. Still, he didn't worry too much about it. He hated the idea of taking the Colonel's care for granted, but Roy was very reliable, and Alphonse found that it was easy to trust that he would resolve something he'd already promised to take care of. 

 

_Dear May,_

 

_I have some bad news. I'm very sorry, but I won't be able to come to Xing after all, because I’m not well enough. I was on the train for five days before I had to get off, and the doctor kept me in hospital for a week. So I don't think I'll be doing much traveling for a while._

 

_Please don't give up on our Alkahestry lessons! As soon as I am well enough, I will come. In the meantime, maybe I can make it up to you by sending you my work on Amestrian alchemy? Brother and I are working on a new idea. Speaking of Edward, he's already gone West. I'm a little bit jealous.. I guess I'll have to be a little more patient before I can really use my body properly._

 

_I'm staying in Central while I recover, with Colonel Mustang. He rescued me from the train station. He's been awfully kind to me, but I sort of wish I could go home. Not because I don't like it here, because I do (you should see all the books he has!).  But the Colonel is working really hard and now he can't even sleep in his own bed. He won't let me say anything against it though, so I suppose I should just accept the hospitality. Still, I can't help feeling bad._

 

_Did you know he can see now? Doctor Marcoh really did heal him with the Philosopher's Stone. I thought you might like to know!_

 

_I hope that you and Xiao Mei are well and safe, and that your clan is, too! We all miss you and Ling._

 

_Warmest regards,_

 

_Alphonse Elric_

 

_P.S. I'm sure the Colonel won't mind if you write back to this address!_

 

 

The telephone rang shrilly, giving Roy a much needed excuse to stop writing for a moment to answer it. 

 

"Colonel Mustang's office." 

 

"Miles speaking. Is this a good time to talk?" 

 

"Never better." Roy checked his watch. Right on time. 

 

"I'm just phoning in the sitrep, and there's a couple of matters we should discuss, too." 

 

"Fire away. " Roy fiddled with his pen, flicking it in little circles on his desk, then picking it up between two fingers and drumming it against his thumb. 

 

"Do you remember that yesterday I told you that we were opening negotiations to have the bases on the border transferred to Ishvalan jurisdiction?" 

 

"Mm.” 

 

"Last night all the Amestrian soldiers pulled out and left." 

 

Roy sat bolt upright. "What!?" 

 

"Yeah. All three locations, too. It was co-ordinated. Their orders were to vacate them ready for us, so on paper it looks like they were compliant. It's been pandemonium. There were looters. Mostly Amestrian," Miles added quickly. 

 

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't heard about this." 

 

"Well, you're hearing it now. We’ve mostly got the situation under control, but I'm loath to request additional security." 

 

"Understandably." Roy winced. Sending in troops or even MPs would be diplomatic suicide. "I'll try and get hold of Grumman and have a minimal staff transferred to the bases tomorrow. Once they're restaffed we can begin an orderly transfer, or as orderly as it can be after this. How does that sound? 

 

"Much better than what I've got now," Miles said wryly. "I'd appreciate it." 

 

"What a charlie foxtrot.” 

 

"My thoughts exactly. I suppose we knew your plans wouldn't be popular with everyone." 

 

"Well, I'm not about to give up. It helps to be friends with the Führer. I'll do everything I can to salvage the situation." 

 

"You have my thanks." 

 

"Is it all bad news?" 

 

"Not all," Miles reassured him. "Although it's not as good as it could be, things are going reasonably well in the trade talks." 

 

"Thank goodness," Roy muttered. The offer of aid from Amestris had been refused, so Roy's next tactic had been to suggest trading incentives. It was clear that the region wouldn't be able to get back on its feet without them, which made it all the more frustrating to the Colonel that they were being accepted so reluctantly.

 

"You should plan for a trip, I think. I know we've been keeping everyone out, but I think it's getting to the point where you showing your face would do more good than harm." 

 

Roy frowned. The prospect of visiting Ishval was far from a pleasant one, although he'd known it would be necessary from the moment he'd begun this endeavor. "You're springing this on me a bit fast." 

 

"I'm telling you what I think is necessary." 

 

Of course. 

 

"All right," Roy said, his voice a study in self-control. "I'll make arrangements. When do you want me? "

 

"Next week would be ideal." 

 

Ugh. 

 

"I'll see what I can do. I'll need to submit a request." 

 

"Understood. Don't bother packing a coat, incidentally. It must be a hundred and ten in the sun today." Roy could hear the exhaustion in Miles' voice. "I can't wait for this to be over so I can go back North." 

 

"I think everyone has a reason for wanting to make good time on this." 

 

"It's embarrassing. Every time I go outside I risk heatstroke. I can endure the cold, but not this. Well, anyway. I ought to go. Until you get these bases restaffed I'm the one in control of all three of them." 

 

"Good luck," Roy said. He didn't envy Miles' job. 

 

"Thanks. I'll need it." 

 

The line went dead, and Roy set the receiver down in its cradle, although he didn’t let go of the handset. He wasn't thinking of the call he had to make to Fuhrer Grumman. He was thinking about the desert. The searing heat of those memories stretched out in his mind in an awful, shimmering track. He remembered the way the desert swallowed up all the ruin they'd inflicted on it. All that blood was still there, filtered down under the dunes and the rubble. The last thing in the world Roy wanted to do was go back there himself. His footprints would sink into the sand and show red.

 

He shook himself, trying to recover. He had a whole week before he had to start coping with that. For now, he had a job to do and a problem to solve. He got up, poured himself another cup of coffee, and set it resolutely down on his desk before picking up the phone again. He slipped his fingertip into the rotary dial, punching in Grumman's memorized number without a moment's hesitation. And when the call was answered, Mustang's voice was perfectly steady.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after two years I decided to revive this fic! I rewrote chapter 3 almost entirely to make it not suck and I'll be updating again from now on! So hopefully, there's anyone who's still interested in reading it...... sorry for the long wait!

 

 

Alphonse had arrived back in Central on a Tuesday, and Roy’s workload had forced him to work on Saturday, but not even the Reconstruction would drag him into the office on a Sunday afternoon. Every night for the past week Roy had returned to the same scene: Alphonse sitting on the bare floorboards with five or six books open around him and his notebook open in his lap, a pencil clutched in his thin fingers and a resolute insistence that no, he wasn’t uncomfortable at all, but thank you for asking. 

 

Alphonse's focus was absolute, of a sort Roy had never been able to summon in himself; the Colonel had always been more of a soldier than an alchemist anyway. The two of them developed a routine of coexistence: Alphonse worked, and Roy drank until he fell asleep on the couch. In fact, Alphonse soon noticed, the Colonel had no sooner changed out of his uniform in the evening than he had a bottle of scotch at his elbow, although he did not refill his glass very often. For his part, Roy was surprised at how agreeable it was to have Alphonse with him. The boy was a master of comfortable silences, although Roy certainly did find it strange to share his austere apartment with an actual human. He had never woken up to company before. He almost never had houseguests. He didn’t even have a pet. 

 

Alphonse's family in Resembool had kept him to a strict sleeping schedule from the very first night he returned home, a schedule to which Alphonse took with surprising ease after his four years of sleeplessness, and Roy was awakened far too early on Sunday morning by the sound of Alphonse running the faucets in the bathroom. The boy kept country hours. Roy pawed for the alarm clock on the floor, tilting it up and squinting at it. Six-forty-five in the morning. Preposterous. 

 

And then he recalled the day, and warm triumph spread through his chest. Sunday. No work. And Alphonse was already out of bed. Roy stood up, cracked his back, and stumbled into his bedroom just as Alphonse was leaving the bathroom. 

 

"Colonel! I didn't mean to disturb you," he began apologetically, before he realized that Roy was not, in fact, going for the bathroom. 

 

Roy mumbled something incoherent. His hair was flattened on one side, sticking up in all directions, his cheeks unshaven and his eyes barely open. Alphonse had never seen him look so disheveled, or so inattentive. He collapsed face-down on his bed, rolling around as he struggled to get under the blankets. Alphonse watched from the doorway and tried not to smile. When he was sleepy enough, the Flame Alchemist was little better than a floppy kitten. 

 

"I'll wake you up in a few hours," Alphonse said softly, turning away to the living room, closing the door behind him. 

 

Roy finally managed to get the comforter out from under himself and rolled up in it, sprawling out in his bed. His big, soft, wonderful bed. Oh, he'd missed this bed. 

 

 

It was late by the time Roy emerged. The sunlight reflecting off the white facade of the apartments across the street was honey-gold. All of the windows in the apartment were open, letting in that golden light and a refreshing breeze that took the edge off the midday heat. 

 

Roy wasn’t sure he recalled the last time he’d had the windows open. 

 

Alphonse sat in his usual spot on the floor, a cup of tea beside him and a nibbled slice of dark rye bread on a plate. The boy looked up when the Colonel came in, hazel eyes widening at first before he smiled. 

 

“Oh— Colonel! Did you sleep well?” 

 

Roy was dressed down in dark trousers, a white shirt and black socks. Despite the inescapable formality of his clothes, the crease pressed into his trousers and the immaculately ironed shirt, Alphonse doubted he’d ever seen the Colonel dressed so casually. 

 

“Mmhmm. G’morning.” 

 

Alphonse hid a smile. 

 

“Afternoon.” 

 

Roy grumbled and shuffled into the little kitchen, boiling water and spooning coffee into his coffee pot. Alphonse watched him from the living room. Granny had always made coffee in a pan on the stove, but Roy’s pot was an expensive-looking glass beaker in a metal frame, with a plunger attached to the lid. It seemed to him that the Colonel always had the latest and most expensive inventions, although the truth was that he only bought them out of convenience and laziness. Roy didn’t have time to watch coffee boil. 

 

He came out with the coffeepot and a porcelain cup, setting them down on a corner of the desk while he folded the rumpled blanket he’d left on the couch. 

 

“You know you’re welcome to eat more than just bread,” the Colonel said, eyeing the dry rye Alphonse had been picking at. 

 

“Is it all right?” Alphonse flustered. 

 

“Of course it’s all right,” Roy sighed. “You can’t be expected not to eat.” He pushed down the plunger on his coffeepot, pouring himself a cup. “There’s some raspberry preserve in the icebox, if you like that. It goes well with the bread.” 

 

“Thank you,” Alphonse said, getting to his feet right away. He took his plate into the kitchen, opening the door to the icebox. He frowned. There was almost nothing in there: milk, a folded paper packet from the butcher, and the promised jar of preserve. Butter and eggs were on the countertop. Bread was in the bread box, tea and coffee in the cupboard. And… that was all. 

 

The Colonel obviously did not cook very often. 

 

He fetched the preserve, spreading it very liberally on the bread with a silver knife that he washed off right away, and returned to the living room. Roy was sipping at his coffee, the steam curling up from the surface. Alphonse knew for a fact that he did not enjoy the taste of coffee, but he found the smell exquisite, refreshing and exotic. 

 

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” said Roy. 

 

Alphonse sat down cross-legged on the floor and took a big bite of the bread. The preserve was tart and fresh, with little seeds littered through it. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the incredible taste as he chewed, before dragging himself back to the conversation at hand. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well, I’m going to go out of town for a little while next week.” 

 

“Oh!” Alphonse raised his eyebrows. “You’re taking leave?” It was about time, if so. 

 

But Roy shook his head. “The opposite, actually,” he said. “I have a temporary transfer back to the East.” 

 

“Eastern Command?” 

 

“…Not exactly.” 

 

Roy sipped his coffee again, and Alphonse understood. 

 

“I guess it is about time I went back to Resembool,” he said with a bright smile. 

 

Roy was always a little surprised by the young man’s capacity for tact. 

 

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” said the Colonel. “If you like, you can stay here in my absence. I’m certain that Central has better resources for you - libraries, museums - more than Resembool has to offer. And it might be nice for you to stay here a while, since I’m certain you can’t afford to stay in Central on your own.” 

 

It was true. Alphonse had always gone everywhere on his brother’s checkbook, and now that they were separated he had almost no money of his own. Enough to eat and to take the train, plus money Ed had given him for Xing and gifts from Winry and Granny, but not remotely enough for an apartment in Central. Even Roy, on his Colonel’s salary, wasn’t exactly living in luxury here. 

 

“Are you sure it’s all right?” Alphonse asked. 

 

“Well, it’s only a temporary transfer, so I need to keep paying for the apartment either way. I’ll be living on base in the East. Besides, just going home with your tail between your legs would be a let down. Even if you can’t go to Xing, you may as well do something valuable.” 

 

“That would be… incredible,” Alphonse breathed. “Thank you so much! I’ll make good use of it!” 

 

Roy allowed himself a smile. Alphonse was learning that it was always nice to have friends. He was such a genuine young man, not holding back his delight or gratitude in the slightest, and Roy in turn valued that honesty. 

 

“Oh, that reminds me,” he added. “It was your birthday recently, wasn’t it?” 

 

Alphonse beamed. “That’s right,” he said. “Just a month or so after I got back to Resembool. Granny made me a birthday cake.” He hadn’t had birthday cake for years. 

 

“Well, I forgot about it until the other day, I’m afraid,” Roy said, entirely unapologetic. “But I got you a present.” 

 

“What!? Colonel! You didn’t have to do that!” 

 

Roy waved him off, opening one of the desk drawers and taking out a small box. It was wrapped in silver paper with a red ribbon, immaculate enough that it was immediately obvious it had been wrapped at the store. Still, Alphonse was touched. 

 

“Can I open it now?” 

 

“I’m not exactly asking you to wait until your next birthday,” the Colonel scoffed, and Alphonse smiled and pulled on the ribbon. 

 

The delicate paper fell away, revealing a sleek black box. Alphonse hesitated before opening it; it looked very, very expensive, whatever it was. He looked up at Roy, a little nervous, and the Colonel waved his fingers, saying ‘go on, go on’. 

 

Alphonse took off the lid, and gasped. 

 

Inside lay a fountain pen, fat and black and shiny. The cap was topped with a circle of gold, and there were two more concentric rings decorating the body. Judging from the weight, it was solid gold.  

 

“Oh… Colonel…” Alphonse breathed. He didn’t want to imagine how much this had cost. “Thank you so much!” 

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Roy said, visibly self-satisfied. “I was going to get you protractors, but I imagine you’re perfectly capable of drawing a circle freehand by now. And every scholar should have a good pen.” 

 

Alphonse cradled the pen in his hands in amazement. “You didn’t have to,” he said, unable to stop smiling. “I’ll make good use of it, I promise!” 

 

“See that you do,” Roy told him, and poured another cup of coffee. 

 

***

 

 

Alphonse had used the pen that day to draw. He was beyond delighted by how smooth the lines were, how easy it was to control. But most of his work right now was just annotating, nothing that wasn’t better suited to a pencil, and he’d tucked the fountain pen into his shirt pocket before long and resumed his reading. He didn’t want to waste the ink. 

 

Roy didn’t disturb him all day. The Colonel went out when his coffee was finished to buy some food - and as Alphonse had suspected, he returned with boxes from the bakery rather than grocery bags. Al wasn’t going to complain, though; the white boxes were immaculate and beautiful, tied with thin ivory ribbon, the name of the bakery embossed on the front with a silver stamp. Everything smelled of powdered sugar and vanilla. Only one box, however, contained sweets, buttery croissants and a selection of dainty petits-fours; the other contained two generous slices of quiche. 

 

“You really like quiche, don’t you, Colonel?” 

 

“Mm.” 

 

Roy didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, as it turned out; the petits-fours were all for Alphonse. He was in rapture at the flavors of marzipan, of vanilla bean confectioner’s cream, apricot jam, praline, pecan. The flavors were infinitely more sophisticated than the simple sweetness of Winry’s baking, and while Alphonse would swear up and down that her apple pie was his favorite, secretly he was blown away by the exquisite flavors of these extravagant sweets. 

 

Alphonse drank milk the rest of the day, and when it came to dinnertime, Roy opened up the package of meat in the icebox, which turned out to be steak. He offered to share, but Alphonse refused, making himself a much simpler meal of buttered toast instead. He felt like if he ate any more rich food that day, he’d burst. He spent the rest of the evening sipping tea without milk and reading one of his novels. He couldn’t help but notice that the Colonel didn’t eat any vegetables with his steak - he wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t have any, or because he didn’t have any because he didn’t know how to cook them.  

 

They had reached a familiar point in the evening, Roy getting steadily drunk and Alphonse engrossed in a book, when a knock on the door startled them both out of sleepiness. The Colonel rolled off the couch, walking with surprising steadiness to the door and opening it.

 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!” Alphonse called out from the floor, beaming. 

 

“Oh— Alphonse!” Riza exclaimed. Roy held the door open for her and took her coat, hanging it up on the stand by the door. Hayate trotted in, and Alphonse called him over. “Here, boy!” 

 

“Colonel,” Riza added, glancing at Roy, “You smell like a beer garden. Don’t drink so much at one sitting.” 

 

Alphonse hid a grin, ruffling Hayate with both hands. He had touched dogs since the Promised Day, but not _this_ dog.

 

“It’s scotch, not beer,” Roy corrected her, and she gave him a look. 

 

“Whatever it is, just don’t perform any alchemy until you’ve aired yourself out,” she retorted. 

 

Alphonse wasn’t sure he’d seen the Lieutenant in civilian dress before. She looked very different in her long skirt and blue turtleneck sweater; more approachable, although not really any softer. While that undoubtedly owed something to the shoulder holster she wore under her jacket, there was also something inherently hard and cold in the Lieutenant, although it didn’t make her a bad person. She was still kind, and that was what counted. 

 

“So what brings you here, Lieutenant?” the Colonel asked, and assumed that the wary glance he threw Alphonse wouldn’t be noticed. If Riza hadn’t known Alphonse was here, her reason for coming might not be fit for Alphonse’s ears. 

 

“I saw that you’re being transferred East,” Riza answered him. 

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Roy, and he picked up his bottle of scotch. “Come on into the kitchen, let me fix you a drink.” 

 

When she didn’t argue, Alphonse knew that she wasn’t going into the kitchen for a drink. He knew about the War of Extermination, although he had never asked either of them about it directly like Edward had. He knew that was what they were talking about, sotto voce, at the back of the kitchen where they couldn’t be heard. And although he was too polite to try and eavesdrop, he didn’t miss the harrowed looks on their faces when they spoke. He hugged Hayate, and tried his best to ignore them both while they didn’t want his attention. 

 

Eventually, Riza came out of the kitchen, and Alphonse looked up and smiled. Hayate hopped out of his arms and ran to his mistress, sitting down close to her heel without needing to be told. 

 

“So you’re staying here for a while, then?” she asked, and Alphonse nodded enthusiastically. 

 

“That’s right, Colonel Mustang is letting me stay while he’s away so I can use the library for my research.” 

 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Riza said, with a rare smile. “It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to Xing, but it’s a miracle you’re up and about like this after everything you’ve been through.” 

 

“I should have waited longer,” Alphonse agreed, sighing. “But perhaps it’s not a bad thing that I’m staying in Central a while longer. There’s still a lot I can do here, and I’ve got plenty of time to see the world.” 

 

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on you while you’re here,” Riza assured him. Alphonse wondered if she was used to keeping an eye on this apartment anyway. “Don’t try to pretend you won’t need it, we both know how much trouble you can get into.” 

 

“No, no, I appreciate it!” Alphonse waved his hands, smiling. “I really do. Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

 

“Don’t mention it,” said Riza. “Well, I should be going.” 

“I’ll be by the office tomorrow for the documents I need,” Roy said, pushing away from the kitchen door frame to let the Lieutenant out. “Thanks for stopping by, Lieutenant. It won’t be the same without you.” 

 

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Riza told him firmly. “Oh, and— Alphonse, happy birthday.” 

 

“Thank you Lieutenant!” 

 

Roy closed the door, and hesitated for just a moment, his back to Alphonse. Al watched him rub a hand over his face before he turned back. 

 

“I should pack,” he sighed. “And you should get ready for bed. I’ll leave some money on the counter so you can buy lunch tomorrow. I’m going to need to leave early, my train leaves at noon and I have errands to run in the morning.” 

 

“I’ll be okay, Colonel,” Alphonse said, quieter this time. “Thank you for everything.” 

 

Roy looked at Alphonse, and for a moment it seemed as though he didn’t even recognize him. But then his expression resolved itself into something kinder, black eyes warming, and he gave Al a smile. 

 

“My pleasure, Alphonse,” he said. “Just try to have fun while I’m gone, all right?” 


End file.
